


Ink

by Claradala26



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4916197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claradala26/pseuds/Claradala26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story of how Dogma met a friend for life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [117Neva117](https://archiveofourown.org/users/117Neva117/gifts).



> This work is a birthday gift for the lovely 177Neva117. Again, I wish you all the happiness in the world! For the rest of you, I hope you'll enjoy this little story.

Dogma felt very lonely most of the time. The thing was, he couldn’t figure out why.

Everything had been going so good up until just recently. His squad had graduated with the highest score possible, finally going from mere cadets on Kamino to real soldiers in the army. Dogma would always remember the day when he put on the plain, white Phase 2 armor on himself as the proudest day of his life. Tup had laughed at him in good humor, claiming that his smile had been like a beaming sun, and that they’d all been almost grateful when he’d shoved the bucket on. Now he knew the words hadn’t been intended like that, but Dogma still found himself hurt when he thought back about it. Like he wasn’t allowed to smile.

What had been the best had been hearing about where they were to be assigned. The famous 501st legion. Dogma had nearly lost it. Only the very best was taken in to the 501st. Which could only mean that for once in his life, he’d done well. All those years of hard, bitter training, through despair and hope, had paid off. He was at the top, and no one could argue otherwise with him.

Reality, however, had proved to be as different from his sky high expectations as it could get.

In real life, he’d been forced to start all over again to prove himself. Dogma had. He’d fought and fought, tried to be of as much use as he could, until that too had ended in success. After his very first, real battle, Captain Rex himself had given him the right to paint his armor. While everyone else had been licking their wounds and celebrated the fact that they were still alive, Dogma had gotten a can of the characteristic 501st blue. All night had he designed, painted, erased, painted again, until he had the most beautiful armor to wear. Surprisingly he hadn’t showed it off to Tup first, but had ran straight to the Captain’s office. He knew that it was very much against regulation, and his heart had fluttered like a nervous little bird as the doors had swung open before him. Captain Rex had given him a smile. It had been the saddest smile Dogma had ever seen.

As long as it was out on the battlefield or within the tight reins of regulation, Dogma managed very well. But his life outside of that was practically nonexistent. Back on Kamino things had been easy as pie. Back then you didn’t make it unless you played by the rules, and this had simply come easier to Dogma then for others. Life was made out of rules. If everyone stopped follow those rules, chaos would erupt. So naturally Dogma had decided to keep his rule obeying beliefs with him when making the transition from soldier in training to soldier for real. Sadly he hadn’t anticipated that this would make him stick out like a sore thumb.

No one would believe him, but he tried his very best to adapt to this new life. But like regulations had been difficult for his podmates, freedom proved difficult to Dogma. Tup grew more adventurous, became quite popular. It’d seem like he made friends both to the left and right of him, among them the admired ARC trooper named Fives. Dogma wouldn’t say he was jealous. He was happy for his friend. Although that happiness was tested each time someone turned their back to him, or when he could clear an entire table in the mess simply by walking near. It hurt, but Dogma never gave them the pleasure of seeing his pain. He ground on, repeating his mantra at night like it could save him.

This battle had been long. Rough. Not many dead, but no one was in their best mood either. All Dogma really wanted was a good night’s sleep. His stomach made a loud noise of protest as soon as he’d thought it. Maybe some food wouldn’t be too bad either? As if in slow motion Dogma followed the stream towards the mess hall, shutting out all of the chatter he heard, or hugs that he saw. He got in line quickly, watching with a growing distaste how a droid portioned out today’s dinner. Dear Force, could that even count as roba stripes?

Dogma still debated with himself whether it was safe to eat or not while he searched for a table. Instantly  his gaze fell on a secluded table in a dark corner of the hall. Sighing loudly as he saw no other options, he trotted over to it, settling his now filled up tray on it. Almost everyone else was wearing their off duty fatigues. Dogma was still in armor. Slowly he took his helmet off, carefully putting it under the table, -where no one could steal it to make fun of him-, before digging in. If possible it tasted worse than it looked.

Dogma’s eyes were firmly glued to the uninspiring plate. That was, until a loud, somewhat sharp “Hi!” made him nearly leap out of his own skin. His head shot up, only to be met with an equally armored figure who rather sheepishly was clutching a chair. Warily he eyed the brother, frowning slightly at his choice of armor paint. It was very artistically made, even though the paint on his helmet made it look like wrinkles. Odd…

“Can I sit with you? It’s all soooooo crowded in here, and you look way too lonely at a table made for two.” continued his sudden attacker, making Dogma even more confused. Was he lying, like everyone else, just to get a laugh at of seeing the look on his face? He wasn’t lying, though. He was way too lonely at this table. After some careful time of consideration, Dogma made a sweeping gesture with his hand in invitation.

“Suit yourself. There’s no rule saying you can’t sit here. But you should return that chair as soon as possible…” Dogma mumbled, going back to his dinner. There were a lot of loud scraping on the floor that had Dogma wince, but soon they were both seated at the table. The stranger brother cocked his head, setting both elbows down at the table, supporting his chin with his hands. His foot constantly drummed against the floor, a “tap-tap-tap-“ sound that gradually grew on his nerves. Irritated Dogma shot him a glare.

“Would you cut that out? I’m trying to eat.” he snapped, immediately regretting his own outburst. This was turning out well even from the start. But to his surprise, the other one laughed out loud like it was a good joke, bringing his helmet up over his head and letting it fall to the floor with a clattering sound. Dogma’s jaw dropped.

“You must be Dogma,” the Trooper said with a cheeky smile. “I recognized your armor. Everyone says that for a guy with such an artistic talent, you have a stick very firmly lodged up your shebs. I’m Hardcase, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Dogma was about to feel offended for that one accusation. His face had already turned the appropriate shade of red, at least. He had no- no stick up…there. The Rookie spluttered, but before he could get anything out to his defense he found a hand very promptly shoved up under his nose. Glaring, he was about to smack it away when what the rest of the Trooper, Hardcase, had said sunk in. His face heated up again, this time for entirely different reasons, and his gaze lowered. Still he took the offered hand, nearly crying out at how forcefully his own was grabbed.

“Do you really think I’m…artistic?” Dogma asked shyly. In return he received a megawatt grin from Hardcase, who seemed to be examining the patterns on his helmet, -when had he picked it up?-, closely.

“’Course I do! You know your painting,” Hardcase said enthusiastically. Then, much to Dogma’s surprise, gave Dogma the most intense look he’d ever gotten. Dogma didn’t know if it was a legitimate reaction to squirm under it, but however hard he tried he couldn’t suppress the urge.

“There’s something missing…” Hardcase muttered, seemingly deep in thought. Just like that, his face suddenly lit up like he’d had the most amazing idea, and he smiled at Dogma like a child on Christmas eve.

“I know just what you need! Have you ever thought of getting a tattoo? Maybe something…matching your helmet? Oh please, please, please say yes! I have an awesome design in mind, you gon’ love it!”

Dogma found himself staring wide eyed at Hardcase. He didn’t want to ruin this newfound, friendly person’s enthusiasm, but at the same time he felt his own confidence failing him miserably at the thought of a tattoo. Biting his own lip he glanced up at Hardcase, who was still trying to wildly convince him to get a tattoo. _Grow a spine, soldier,_ Dogma ended up telling himself. _It can’t be that bad._ Taking a deep breath he met Hardcase’s eyes, forcing a confident smile onto his face.

“Sure…why not? Could be fun.” Dogma said as cheerfully as possible, shrugging as if it wasn’t such a big deal. When as a matter of fact his inner voice was screaming at him to not do this. But any attempt to change his mind was pretty much lost two seconds later when the realization dawned on Hardcase. His face beamed like a smaller sun, and before Dogma got a chance to react he had shot up from his chair with enough force to knock it over. The Rookie let out a yelp, then found himself more or less dragged out of his chair.

“Come on!!” Hardcase cheer, and all Dogma could do was to kindly follow, trying hard to keep up with the frantic pace. He was led to a secluded barrack, then promptly shoved down on a vacant bunk while the other roamed under another one for things he could use. Or at least Dogma thought so. He knew nothing of tattooing.

When Hardcase resurfaced Dogma could feel all color draining from his face. The needle he held raised high was the largest one that the Rookie had ever seen. He must’ve shown his dread like a neon sign, because Hardcase chuckled in an oddly soft manner, placing the equipment beside him on the bed before sitting down himself. Dogma stared at him in disbelief as he reached a hand out, cupping Dogma’s chin lightly and pulling him closer. He trusted Hardcase not to give him any grief.

“Relax, Dogma,” Hardcase murmured with a smile, carefully putting the needle to the side of his nose. Dogma’s heartbeat sped up, but the hand on his chin steadied, bringing him back to reality.

“It doesn’t hurt. Much.”

Well, that much was true. It stung badly, but didn’t hurt. Dogma wasn’t sure about it, the difference was rather vague in his opinion. Hardcase worked in concentrated silence, where time simply didn’t exist. Hours could’ve passed, but neither seemed to notice nor care. To Dogma this was a rare moment of peace, and he wouldn’t have traded it for the loud chatter in his own barracks.

Eventually Hardcase lowered the needle for the last time, admiring Dogma’s face with a pouting expression. Dogma was about to ask if it looked good when his brother pushed a mirror towards him, one that he hadn’t spotted before. Slowly he picked it up, not knowing if he dared to look at himself after this. But he forced himself to be brave and look into the glass. And the result stunned him into silence.

Where only plain skin had been before, a beautiful, black geometrically patterned tattoo now sat, being in the same triangle shape as his helmet paintings. Awestrucked he raised his hand to caress the still raw skin, smiling slightly at the sight of his new self.

“Thank you…” he said shyly to Hardcase, blushing at hearing the other laugh. Then another thought, one seemingly insignificant up until now, hit him. Dogma swallowed.

“Do you- do you want me to pay you?” asked Dogma, feeling himself blush even more. He wasn’t sure he liked the new look of mischievousness on Hardcase’s face. His brother sat way too close than what regulations allowed. The not so subtle hand turning his face he had no idea how to translate into actions he knew of. He was about to voice some sort of protest. But he never got that far.

Hardcase had leaned in too quickly for him to register. And now he was kissing Dogma. Hard. The Rookie inhaled sharply, being too shocked to even move.  Never before had he…expected someone to want that from him, leading to a quick burial of those desires. Up until now every act of kindness had been mocking in one way or the other. But Dogma didn’t think of the strong arms fitting snugly around his waist as mocking. He could only feel Hardcase all around him; soft and warm.

So he gave in. It felt good, to completely surrender in those arms, opening his mouth slightly to allow Hardcase in. As in everything his vod was very energetic, playfully pushing Dogma down onto his back on the soft mattress while straddling his hips. Then all of sudden he was gone, hovering only a few inches above Dogma with a wide grin on his face. The Rookie tried his best to catch his breath, giving Hardcase a look that was a mixture of a frown, shock and wonder. He could feel the vibrations of his brother’s chuckling all over his body, and he didn’t even notice how tightly he was clutching one muscular bicep in his hand. It couldn’t be explained…but Dogma didn’t want him to let go. For too long he’d been lonely. It’d have to change now.

Thankfully, Hardcase wasn’t going anywhere.

His brother slumped down beside Dogma, before pulling him in flush against his chest. Dogma shuffled a lot until he found a comfortable place to rest his head on Hardcase’s shoulder.

“Normally the price isn’t that high, but you can always get a discount on your next one.” Hardcase mumbled into his ear, making Dogma smile happily. For the first time in his life he was feeling bold, as he propped himself up on an elbow, clumsily ruining the moment by having to put a hand on Hardcase’s shoulder to steady himself. But it didn’t stop him from saying:

“That’s absolutely out of the question. Right shall be right, so if the price is high I’ll pay no less than what’s expected.”

As it turned out, Dogma didn’t sleep in his own bed that night. Neither did he the night after. Soon the weeks had turned into a whole month, and there wasn’t an inch of his skin that wasn’t marked.

Both by ink and love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are a writer's best friend. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it! Loved it? Hated it? Please let me know!


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